


One Night in Vegas

by Rhys (rhyssj)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Alcohol, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-29
Updated: 2004-08-29
Packaged: 2019-04-20 08:46:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14257242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyssj/pseuds/Rhys
Summary: Joey tries to pull a Britney.





	One Night in Vegas

**Author's Note:**

> A _boys in their dresses_ cross-dressing challenge story.

~~~ 

_I'm not policing what you think and dream  
I run into your thought from across the room _

~~~ 

When Lance’s phone started vibrating in his pocket, sending delicious thrills up his cock, he stoically ignored it. The dice were warmed up in his hands, ready to be tossed, and he was _not_ going to condemn himself to another night of losing. Tonight, Lance was going to be a winner. 

"Hey, man," the guy next to him said, "you gonna answer your phone?" 

Lance stared straight ahead, visualising his roll and the huge sum of money that would be his reward. Lance was long overdue for a little bit of luck, and the dice were magic in his hands. 

"Do you want me to answer it?" The guy asked, "because that’s really annoying." 

"Touch me, and I’ll sue you," Lance replied, loosening up his wrists with two brisk shakes then rubbing the dice between his palms, still visualising. 

"Maybe a friend of yours died, man. Maybe that’s him calling for your kidney." 

Lance turned to look at the guy heckling him, vaguely recognising him as one of those guys from that band he didn’t like too much. Whatever they were called. Lance called them shit. It wasn’t the time or the place to start anything - he was about to win _big -_ but he was tempted. 

And his phone just kept on ringing. 

"Maybe you should answer it," the dealer said with a shrug. 

"Oh, fuck," Lance said, and tossed his lucky dice, losing the ten thousand he’d put down instantly. It had better be a dead friend on the phone, because there was no one else Lance could forgive for _utterly destroying_ his lucky dice vibes. Angrily, he fished his phone out of his pocket. 

" _What_?" 

"Lance! My man Lance!" 

"Joey, you just cost me ten thousand dollars." 

"I’ll pay you back," Joey said quickly, his words tumbling out in a slur. Drunk? It sounded like it to Lance, who hadn’t had one drink for fear it would ruin his game. "But dude. Guess what? No, you’ll never guess. I’m gonna tell you. No, no, wait. Guess what, dude!" 

Lance sighed, pressing a finger to his ear to block out the noise behind him. "What?" 

"I’m getting married!" 

"To Kelly?" Lance asked, because the last he had heard that whole thing had gone sour, and Kelly was currently living at her mom’s. No hard feelings, Lance was assured, but they’d sounded pretty serious when they had sat him down to break the news he wouldn’t be a best man. 

"No! To," the voice on the other end suddenly sounded muffled, like Joey had put his hand over the receiver, which was probably exactly what he’d done, "what’s your name again, sweetheart?" In the background, Lance heard a mumble and then, "to Susanna! She’s _hot_ , man." 

"Joey," Lance said, then stopped. Joey was obviously drunk. "Where are you, Joey?" 

"In Vegas! Me and Susan met at the, like, _the_ _place_ with the strippers and the booze." 

_Thank you, god_ , Lance thought, glancing briefly at the ceiling. But there was no way to narrow down Joey’s location. With a side of gambling, strippers and booze _were_ Vegas. "Joey, you haven’t gotten married yet, have you? Because you promised me I’d be your best man." 

"Oh, I did. Fuck. I’m such a shitty friend, man. You wanna come? You got a pen?" 

Lance scribbled down the address for Marie and Pierre’s Shack O’ Love and made Joey promise that he would, under no circumstances, get married before Lance got there. It hadn’t worked on Britney, but Lance hoped, more than he ever had before, Joey was smarter than her. 

Sometimes, he really wondered. 

~~~ 

Marie and Pierre’s Shack O’ Love was off the main stretch, but it was still accessible. It was also located next to a strip club, Lance noted idly, named Booze and Butts. After paying the cabbie, Lance stepped onto the pavement and said a quick prayer: _please god, make Joey smart_. 

"Dude!" Joey said as Lance entered the chapel. Joey walked toward him in an S-pattern. 

Lance was going to find Joey a really nice place to do his rehab in. 

"C’mon, meet my fiancée ..." 

"Susanna," Lance supplied when Joey paused, making his brain-hurts-bad face. 

"Susanna! Man, I think I’m drunk," Joey confessed, breathing a distillery onto Lance’s face. It was a wonder he was still standing or able to sign his name to the marriage licence. If they even had one. If Joey had even thought of it. Lance amended his prayer: _stupid is fine, too_. 

~~~ 

Susanna was a lovely woman, and not at all the opportunist Lance had expected. No, she looked just like Joey did, drunk out of her gourd at - Lance checked his watch - nine o-clock pm. She had a friend with her, Mary-something, who was currently slumped over on a nearby chair. 

"I go to college," Susanna slurred, "I’m just doing this cuz he’s so nice and ... _nice_." 

"Did you hear that, dude? I’m _nice_ ," Joey said proudly, grinning all up in Lance’s face. 

Lance patted Joey placatingly on the head, trying to escape the poisoned gas of Joey’s foul breath. "I know you are. I’m nice, too, which is why I’m taking you out for your bachelor party, because you can’t get married without a bachelor party. It just wouldn’t be proper." 

"He’s right," Joey said mournfully. "Susan, did you have your, um, lady bachelor party?" 

Susanna shook her head sadly. " _No_. Mary Beth is such a jerk like that sometimes." 

Mary Beth, who Lance had thought was asleep, looked up sharply, and Lance’s head spun wildly for a second, because a catfight between two good-looking women _would_ count as a bachelor party for Joey, who had always loved that sort of stuff. Lance grabbed Joey by the arm. 

"Ow," Joey said. 

Lance steered Joey toward the door. "We’ll be back. Don’t wait up." 

Joey waved happily. "See you, Susie!" 

"Bye, Joey! Bye friend of Joey!" 

"Bye, Susanna," Lance said, and didn’t feel too bad when Joey walked into a wall. 

~~~ 

" _You_ ," Joey said, poking a finger at Lance’s cheek, "are the best friend in the world." 

"I know," Lance said, looking up and down the street. He had no idea where he was, except there were two neon signs twenty-feet away promising girls, girls, girls. Joey had his eyes on them, practically salivating. "Listen, that place is shitty. I know of a better place. Trust me." 

"That place was nice," Joey said, "like me." He grinned in Lance’s face. 

"Trust me," Lance repeated, relieved when Joey blissfully nodded in agreement. 

It was hard to believe, looking at Joey’s dopey expression and smelling his acid-wash breath, that anybody in the world would want to _marry_ him. Except, of course, Susanna, and, at one point Kelly had, and, well. Maybe Lance did a little, too, but that was just a stupid fantasy. 

Lance had a lot of stupid fantasies. 

Lance knew he should have been more pissed than he was, but he had just liberated Joey from pulling a Britney, which meant he had also just liberated Joey from someone who was not Lance. One small step, Lance supposed, and if it was ten shades of pathetic, he didn’t really care. 

"Are we walking?" Joey asked, leaning heavily on Lance’s shoulder, "because my legs are tired, man, and I would like to fly there, please, like Superman, you know." Joey burped loudly in Lance’s ear, and Lance was bitter that even that didn’t turn him off. "I love you, man." 

"Thank you," Lance said, patting around for his wallet. 

"No, man, I really love you. I love you, like, so much." 

"Okay," Lance said, fishing through his pockets. He’d had it with him on the ride over. 

"You have nice boobies," Joey said, grabbing a handful of Lance’s chest and squeezing deliciously tight. "You can be my stripper." Joey licked a wet molten line across Lance’s neck. 

Lance pushed Joey away. "Fuck off, Joey. I think I left my wallet in the cab I took over here." Joey always pulled shit like this when he was wasted, which was another reason why Lance shouldn’t even _like_ Joey, but he was so fucking _Joey_ that Lance just couldn’t help himself. 

"Oh, don’t be sad, James Lance Bass. I can walk," Joey promised. 

"Do you have any money?" 

"Oh yeah," Joey said, "the ladies gave it to me when I took off my pants." 

~~~ 

So they walked, and Lance tried to formulate a plan. A quick pat-down of Joey, which had resulted in an aria of drunken giggles and bad come-ons, revealed that Joey was also sans wallet. Which really fucking sucked, but they would deal with it. Joey had his stripper money. 

It was almost ten, and not one of Lance’s trusted contacts picked up when Lance tried them on his cell phone, which was - _fuck_ \- rapidly losing battery power. This very small list included his mother, Joey’s father, Justin, Chris, JC, his high school biology teacher Mr. Martinez, his pastor Reverend David, and Chris’s aunt Miriam, who was a modern-day hippie. 

"Can I play Snake?" Joey asked, hooking his chin over Lance’s shoulder. 

Lance tried to shake him off. "No." 

"Okay," Joey said sadly, then took Lance’s hand and swung it merrily between them. Lance looked up and down the street, trying to make a decision. Joey had managed to find the one dead area in Vegas, but Lance could overcome that. He just needed to get change for the phone. That’s what he would do. Get a quarter and call for a taxi. That was an excellent plan. 

"Listen, I’m going to get us a cab, and we’re going to go back to your hotel." 

Joey screwed up his face. "But dude. What about my bachelor party, _with_ _the strippers_?" 

Lance ignored him. "Where are you staying, Joey?" 

Joey shrugged. "Dunno. Can’t remember, but it was nice, man. Nice big _bed_!" 

With that, Joey dropped Lance’s hand and dashed off to the left, quickly vanishing into the throng of impatient people pushing past them. Lance blinked. If his hand wasn’t still warm and damp from Joey clinging to it, he would have written the whole thing off as a bad dream. 

It was a testament to his truly pathetic love that Lance went after him. 

~~~ 

Having studied Joey in his natural habitat for nearly a decade, it wasn’t that hard to figure out where he had gone. There was a ruckus of a party raving a few blocks down, complete with huge bodyguards manning the doors. Joey would have charmed his way in, just on principle. 

Lance stirred his courage and walked up to the entrance. "Hi," he said meekly. 

"Name?" 

"Lance Bass, sir. I’m in Nsync?" Sometimes that worked, sometimes that didn’t, and Lance could never predict these things. And sometimes, he pulled the I-know-Justin-Timberlake card, even though he had sworn to himself that he would die before ever admitting that to Justin. 

"You’re on the list," the huge bodyguard said, and stepped back so Lance could head inside. _Odd_ , Lance thought, but didn’t question it. He tried to think like Joey, who could be one of three places: by the food, because Joey was always hungry; by the booze, because Joey obviously felt the need to get and stay plastered tonight; by the bathroom, because he was going to puke his guts out, and it was only a matter of time before that whole extravaganza began. 

The familiarity of the style and over-the-top madness of the party niggled at Lance. _Curiouser and curiouser_ , he thought, heading toward the open bar. He spotted Paris Hilton then hid his face, not quite up to her brand of self-centred chit-chat. Plus, there was Joey to find, who was not, as Lance had hoped, standing at the bar and drinking his weight in high-class liquor. 

Lance ducked into the bathroom, hope blossoming in his chest at the sound of violent retching, but it turned out to be Kid Rock, who Lance had never gotten along with, his head half-eaten by the toilet bowl. Lance backed away. He needed to be drunk for parties like this one. 

_Maybe_ , Lance thought, leaving Kid Rock to his misery, _this is all a terrible dream_. 

His hopes were dashed when a sudden burst of applause drew his attention to the buffet, where Joey was standing in the middle of a big bowl of fruit salad, up to his ankles in melons and completely butt-fucking-naked. Lance covered his face and wished for a quick, painless death. 

"On behalf of my buddy Sean - that’s Mr. Diddy to you folks - welcome to the party." Joey lifted his glass, which was the size of his head. "Have fun, be merry, and don’t drink as much as I obviously have." Joey downed the drink in one gulp. "On that note, everybody get naked!" 

With that, Joey gave his groin a quick shake and fell off the table, ass first, taking the fruit salad with him. Lance blinked, idly wondering if it was too late to pretend he’d never met Joey. _Probably_ , Lance figured glumly. There was way too much photographic evidence to the contrary. 

"I never stop finding it funny how hard you boyband guys party," P Diddy said, offering Lance a glass of champagne. Again his better judgement, Lance declined. P Diddy smirked then turned his attention back to the spectacle of Joey Fatone. "I take it you want to keep this quiet?" 

"If you wouldn’t mind," Lance said, idly watching Joey as he happily munched his way through the fruit salad. Lance’s stomach turned. Joey was so fucking _gross_ sometimes. 

"You’ll owe me." 

"I know." Lance looked over at him. "Name your price." 

P Diddy grinned like a shark, draining his glass of champagne and tossing it into the nearest exotic plant, where it shattered. "How about you and me, next Tuesday, and a game of friendly poker? I’m in the mood to win some money. A hundred thousand minimum, of course." 

"Of course," Lance said dryly. "I’ll be there." 

"Good man," P Diddy said, squeezing Lance briefly but firmly on the shoulder. 

Lance mustered a weak smile, and exhaled when P Diddy walked away. 

All things considered, Lance thought he got off easy. 

~~~ 

So far Joey had cost him a hundred-and-ten thousand dollars and his dignity, and the night was still young. With another sigh, Lance mustered the strength to swim through the school of people. Joey was still on the floor, fishing the purple grapes out of the sticky pond. 

" _You_ ," Lance said, grabbing Joey under the arms and forcing him to a reluctant stand. Once on his feet, Joey swayed unsteadily, like a palm tree caught in a strong wind, so Lance slipped under his arm, standing as strong and as firm as he could until Joey finally stilled. 

"Thanks, dude," Joey muttered, nuzzling at Lance’s left temple. 

Lance started steering Joey toward the bathroom. "What happened to your clothes?" 

Joey shrugged. "Dunno. Lost them." He aptly skinned a grape with his two front teeth. 

"Where’s the money, Joey?" 

"Gave it away," Joey replied, gently stroking Lance’s neck with sticky fingers, "sorry." 

"It’s okay." Lance set Joey down on a box of toilet paper he found around the corner from the bathroom. They were still within sprinting distance in case Joey decided now was the time to start blowing chunks, but they were also out of sight. "You stay here. I have to find your clothes." 

Joey slumped, his cheek pressed flat against the wall. "Okay. Sure." 

"Promise," Lance said. 

Joey nodded, his eyes slowly closing, like he was fighting it. His words were soft and slurred. "Promise. Gonna sit right here, and not move. Not feeling so hot, you know?" 

"I know," Lance said, and with one last pained looked in Joey’s direction, Lance darted off, a man on a mission. He asked everybody if they had noticed a rogue pair of blue jeans and a tee-shirt with a witty caption on it. Nobody had. Oddly, Lance found Joey’s boxer-briefs, but they’d been pulled over the pig-with-the-apple-in-its-mouth’s head, which was just fucking _sick_. 

Briefly, Lance thought about asking P Diddy for help, but the idea of owing him more than just a whole lot of money frightened him immensely. It was better, Lance decided, to take his losses and leave before Lance accidentally sold himself or Joey into indentured servitude. 

~~~ 

Joey was right where Lance had left him, but there was an incredibly tall women next to him, offering him a wet lump of paper towels. _Scratch_ _that_ , Lance thought, there was an incredibly tall _drag queen_ next to him, offering to mop his brow. She looked over at Lance. 

"Do you need help, honey?" 

"I need a shotgun," Lance replied, "but for me or him, I haven’t decided yet." 

"I’m naked," Joey said helpfully. "I have lost all my clothes." 

"Oh, is that all, honey? I’m sure I can help," she said, opening up her handbag and dumping the contents onto the box of liquid soap next to Joey. She turned to Lance, and in the deepest voice Lance had heard in years, added, "your friend and I are pretty much the same size." 

"I just need to get him back to the hotel without getting arrested." 

She smiled. "I know how that is. I’m afraid I don’t have much, but I can give him these," she held out a pair of pink panties and a matching set of flip flops, adorned with plastic white daisies at the toes, "and I promise they’re clean. A girl’s just gotta be prepared, you know?" 

Lance took the offered items. "You walk around with all this stuff in your purse?" 

"Oh, honey." Her smile turned pitying. "Have you ever worn a ladies’s thong?" 

"Unfortunately, yes," Lance said, before he could stop himself. He put his hand over Joey’s wide grin. 

She looked momentarily stunned, then recovered. "Okay, but how about high heels?" 

"Those, too," Lance admitted, "but I’ve never worn stilettoes. They look awful." 

"They are," she said, her womanhood once again validated, and it wasn’t like Lance had intended to one-up her. Cross-dressing wasn’t something Lance normally partook in. It could all be blamed on Lou Pearlman. "Anyway, you boys take care. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do." 

"Bye!" Joey said happily, "thanks for the underwear, lady!" 

She patted Joey’s cheek kindly then sashayed off, all long legs and broad shoulders. Lance looked at the objects in his hand then dropped the shoes to the ground. Expectantly, Joey held out his foot. Lance kicked him. With a wounded expression, Joey slid into the flip flops. 

~~~ 

It took five minutes to get Joey into the panties, which weren’t quite as innocuous as Lance had initially thought. The briefs were low-riders, barely covering Joey’s dick, and CUTIE was written in block letters across Joey’s butt, which Lance didn’t bother telling Joey about. 

Joey tipped his head onto Lance’s shoulder, his arms draped comfortably around Lance’s waist. His breath was still foul, and his eyes weren’t focussing, and Lance was _still_ impossibly attracted to the moron. Love really was blind, and stupid. Looking Joey over, Lance shook his head and sighed. "I can’t take you out in public looking like this. If anyone sees us, we’re dead." 

Joey looked up. "No?" 

"You’ll thank me tomorrow." 

Joey hummed, moving his wet lips in strange concentric circles on Lance’s neck. Lance took the lull in excitement to take stock of the situation: they had no money; Lance’s cell phone was long dead; Lance refused to ask anyone for help; they were lost; Joey was wearing panties. 

Lance looked down, and they were definitely _not_ leaving with Joey looking like a cross-dresser, and a bad one at that. There was nothing feminine about him. Worse, and Lance only noticed because he was observant like that, one of Joey’s balls was hanging out of the panties. 

"Hi," Joey said, combing his fingers through Lance’s hair, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Fix that," Lance said firmly, resisting the urge to punch Joey in the face when Joey tilted his head, like he had no fucking clue at all. Joey still smelled like a distillery, but there was an overlaying scent of sweet fruit. It was a little intoxicating, actually, far more than the alcohol. 

"You are so," Joey said, pressing his face against Lance’s neck, and Lance really needed to get them out of there _now_. Valiantly, he tried to untangle Joey’s mess of octopus arms from around his waist, and for there just being _one_ of them still holding on, it was nearly impossible. 

And then there was the matter of the rogue ball, hanging low against Joey’s thigh. 

"Come on, Joey," Lance muttered, and then closed his eyes, said a quick prayer - _dear god, there is nothing self-serving in what I’m about to do, I’m just keeping him out of jail_ \- and dropped his hand between Joey’s legs, cupping the dangling part in question and tucking it in. 

"I feel pretty," Joey sang, mouth moving gently below Lance’s left ear, "oh so pretty. I feel pretty, and witty and _gay_ ," Joey put far more emphasis on the word than Lance remembered the song having, "and I pity any boy who isn’t me today," and Joey kissed him on the mouth. 

Lance hit his head against the wall, and it was only surprise that spurred him to kiss back, surprise and terrible human weakness. Joey tasted like fancy cocktails and sticky purple grapes, and underneath it all, he tasted just like Lance always thought Joey would, just so perfectly _Joey_. 

It would have been too easy to give in, to submit to Joey’s drunken wiles, but Lance was sober, and he had to think about tomorrow, and he couldn’t take more than that initial burst of selfishness. With all the strength in the world, Lance put his hand on Joey’s chest and pushed. 

It didn’t matter what Joey looked like. If they didn’t leave now, Lance was going to do something he regretted, and there would be no undoing it. If anything ever happened between them, it had to be sober. Lance had waited too long. "We have to go," Lance said breathlessly. 

Joey’s lips were impossibly wet, catching the light when he nodded. 

"Come on," Lance said, grabbing Joey by the wrist and pulling him into the throng of people. When he looked back, Joey’s eyes were on him, and he looked strangely thoughtful. _And_ _those_ _fucking_ _panties_ , Lance thought, and at the very last second, stole the nearest coat. 

~~~ 

Outside, it was sizzling hot, and way too bright. Briefly, Lance hated Las Vegas, but he couldn’t maintain the feeling for long. It was like loving Joey, stupid but unavoidable. Las Vegas was _his_ city, and he loved it, even when he lost all his money to the likes of P Diddy. 

"I think I just stole Snoop Dogg’s coat," Lance said, more to himself than to Joey, who no longer focussed on anything, his eyes looking off in opposite directions. Lance yanked Joey close, feeding his arms through the sleeves then adjusting the feathered collar around his neck. 

"Dude," Joey mumbled, "I do not feel good at all." He burped in Lance’s face. 

"Well, we have to walk because you gave the money away. I want you to remember that." 

"‘kay," Joey said agreeably, but he looked rough. In the very far distance, Lance could see Caesar’s Palace, which was were he had opted to stay this time around. The one good thing, Lance could admit, was that Las Vegas was an anything-goes sort of town, and Joey fit right in. God willing, nobody who worked for a tabloid would notice them strolling down the street. 

Lance started walking, trusting Joey to follow close behind. He trained his ears to pick up the quiet flapping of Joey’s pink flip flops, which clashed horribly with the orange pimp coat, and Lance didn’t know why he was even focussing on Joey’s fashion, but he needed _something_. 

What he should have been doing was questioning his undying love. This mess stumbling behind him was the real Joey Fatone, the one who did stupid things, and had no shame at all, and needed a babysitter on the best of days. Lance knew all of this, and he still couldn’t seem to _stop_. 

The kissing, though, the kissing was new, and Lance didn’t know what to make of it, and didn’t even _want_ to think about it. Joey had broke his heart a million times, but he’d never been mean about it, not like this. Lance didn’t understand what was going on and wouldn’t dare guess. 

Lance stopped so Joey could catch up. "You’re a jerk sometimes, you know that?" 

Joey nodded sadly, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkling, his eyes glossing over. 

"It’s okay," Lance said, taking Joey’s hand, and they walked back like that. 

~~~ 

When they finally got to Caesar’s Palace, Lance would have fallen to his knees and kissed the marble floor if he hadn’t been bearing the brunt of Joey’s weight. Joey, who had spent the last ten minutes puking in a garbage bin, was barely conscious. Lance dumped him on a bench. 

"Hi," Lance said to the guy manning the front desk, "I lost my key. I’m in room 981." 

The guy nodded. "Yes, Mr. Bass. We’ve also had your wallet returned. You lost it, sir?" 

"I did," Lance said, accepting to proffered wallet, immediately opening it up then closing it again. He sighed. He’d just add the missing seven hundred dollars to Joey’s tab and be grateful that they hadn’t stolen his ID or his credit cards, though he’d still have to cancel the latter. 

"I’ve taken the liberty of resetting the lock on your room," the guy said, sliding Lance’s new keycard across the counter. The guy cocked his head. "Has Mr. Fatone lost his key, too?" 

Lance blinked. "Is he staying here?" 

"Yes, sir. Room 983." 

Lance lifted his eyebrows. "Please tell me this is some sort of crazy coincidence." 

"No, sir. He requested it. I was on duty when he arrived." 

"I’ll take his key, too, then. Thanks." 

Lance looked back over at Joey, who was sprawled out on his back, mouth wide open in sleep. Before anyone else noticed, Lance rushed over and pulled the orange coat over Joey’s crotch, which was nolonger contained by the CUTIE panties. The desk guy brought him the key. 

"Do you need help getting Mr. Fatone up to his room, sir?" 

"I’ll manage," Lance assured him. He tucked his wallet and the keys into his pocket then walked over to Joey, grabbing him under the arms and wrestling him upward. Joey’s eyes flew open. "You are in such big trouble," Lance told him, sliding his shoulder under Joey’s armpit. 

"Gonna puke," Joey mumbled, face pale and clammy, and Lance totally believed him. 

Gently, he brushed back Joey’s sweaty hair. "Just hold on for one more minute, okay?" 

"Okay. For you," Joey said, and thankfully kept his promise. 

~~~ 

Lance sat by Joey’s side and made sure he didn’t follow so many musicians before him and drown in his own vomit. He kept a wet cloth on the back of Joey’s neck, because Joey liked that. Every time Joey started to tip forward and disappear into the bowl, Lance yanked him back. 

"I hope you’re miserable," Lance said, squeezing Joey’s jaw between his fingers until his mouth opened. Lance poured water into the cavern, waited for him to swallow, then filled him up again. Pitifully, Joey moaned, but Lance kept doing it. "Believe me, you’ll thank me tomorrow." 

Lance turned Joey’s face back to the toilet, keeping one hand fisted in his hair and refilling the glass with the other one. Joey retched painfully, arms hanging limply at his side. By the sink, there was a copy of In Touch that Lance had partially read on the plane. He picked it up. 

"This," Lance said, bopping Joey on the side of the head, "is what I saved you from." 

Joey continued puking enthusiastically. 

Lance read for a bit, occasionally breaking to fill Joey with as much water as his stomach could hold. It inevitably all came back up again, but Lance was persistent, and eventually the rate of Joey’s vomiting tapered off, replaced by wet, painful gasps and pitiable, miserable groaning. 

"Are you okay for three seconds?" Lance asked. 

Joey lolled forward, whimpering. 

Lance ducked into the room, grabbing the pad of paper and the pen by the phone, and raced back before Joey could drown in the toilet. It was mean, Lance thought briefly, to use Joey’s unresisting body for his own purposes, but Joey had done worse to him over the years. 

Lance curled Joey’s fingers around the pen, and carefully helped him write, "I O U $110,700. JF." Pleased, Lance sat back and admired Joey’s handiwork then tucked the note into the wrinkled copy of In Touch and set to dragging Joey’s alcohol-induced corpse over to the bed. 

"Come on," Lance said, threading his arms under Joey’s armpits and around his back, pulling him up to the mattress. Joey dry-heaved a couple times, but there was nothing left in him, and Joey grimaced in pain. "Hey, you’re fine. I’m going to get you some more water, okay?" 

Joey whimpered again as Lance put him into the recovery position, taking a minute to lovingly stroke Joey’s sweat-drenched brow. "You big idiot," Lance murmured, then dumped the waste bin upside down and emptied it, placing it near Joey’s head. He went to get more water. 

When he came back, Joey’s breathing had evened out, and he was asleep. With a sigh, Lance put the glass on the table by Joey’s head and sat down on the other side of the bed. He rubbed his face and then, with a yawn, stripped to his boxers and laid down to stare at the ceiling. 

~~~ 

It was late afternoon before Joey opened his eyes. Lance had been awake for a few hours, but he hadn’t moved a muscle. During the night, Joey had rolled over and fit himself deliciously snug against Lance’s back, and his left arm had snaked down one leg of Lance’s boxer-briefs. 

Lance held his breath as Joey moved, the scruff of his cheek brushing against Lance’s shoulder as he looked down. The fucking idiot _chuckled_ then slowly, _so slowly_ , pulled his arm free, his fingers lingering briefly on the naked flesh of Lance’s lower belly before rolling away. 

Joey stumbled like a herd of wild buffalo into the bathroom, bouncing off the doorframe before reaching his final destination, the toilet. Lance grinned when Joey shouted, "fucking ew, dude! What the hell was I eating last night?" There was a moment of silence and then a loud and shocked, "what the fuck!" Joey stuck his head through the doorway. "I owe you _how_ much?" 

"A hundred and ten thousand seven hundred dollars," Lance said helpfully. 

"Oh, fuck me," Joey said, scratching his butt then disappearing into the washroom again. He took the longest piss in the history of mankind then turned on the tap. It quickly turned off again. Joey’s head appeared in the room again, his crazy curly hair sticking up in all directions. 

Lance smiled. "Yes?" 

"What’s with the neon orange pimp coat?" 

"I stole it from Snoop Dogg," Lance said, "after you crashed P. Diddy’s party, _naked_." 

"You know, I vaguely remember that," Joey admitted, sheepishly scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck then sneezing when the feathers tickled under his nose. Quickly, he shrugged out of the coat and dropped it to the floor. "I do remember the drag queen and her pink panties." 

"I’m glad." 

"Yeah, I," Joey said then stopped, his head turned over his shoulder, looking into the bathroom and, Lance presumed, the mirror above the sink. "Dude, does my butt say _CUTIE_?" 

Lance hid his grin behind his hand. "It does." 

"And I walked back like this?" 

Lance nodded. 

"I hate you," Joey said, disappearing into the bathroom, laughing. 

~~~ 

Joey puttered around for a while, running the water and occasionally groaning over the I-O-U. Nervously, Lance waited. Knowing Joey as he did, there was method to the madness of last night, but Lance didn’t want to be wrong. He wouldn’t be able to handle it if he was. 

Finally, Joey showed up in the doorway again, still wearing the skimpy pink panties, stretched obscenely across his dick. Lance was grateful for the hotel-issue comforter. It was strangely hot, seeing Joey dressed like that, the lewd indecency of his outfit. They cut so low and so tight that Lance could see everything, even the bits that were hidden. His dick was just so ... _so amazing_ , Lance’s brain helpfully supplied, and with his heart in his throat, Lance smiled. 

"I wasn’t going to marry her," Joey said, "and if I had, I wouldn’t have meant to." 

Lance nodded. He wanted to put his mouth just above the waistband of Joey’s panties, to kiss the fuzzy skin, to press his tongue there. Lance felt drunk looking at him, mind busy with all the things he wanted to do, to have done. He desperately wanted Joey to take off those panties. 

"I didn’t mean to get so drunk," Joey confessed, scratching a hand over his belly, leaving the dark hairs ruffled and messy. Lance knew he was openly staring, but he couldn’t stop, and Joey wasn’t making him. "I don’t know what I’m trying to say here. Maybe sorry for last night." 

"Apology accepted," Lance said. Mentally, he tried to will Joey’s pink panties off. 

Joey nodded, dropping his hand lower on his belly, his fingers rubbing idly against the elastic of the underwear. Under the sheets, Lance was already inching his own briefs down, trying to hide the movement, knowing it was impossible. Joey’s fingertips danced over his skin. 

"I just didn’t know how to tell you. I’m a bit of an idiot, I guess." 

Lance swallowed, forcing himself to look Joey in the eyes. The hesitation surprised him, and Lance wondered what planet Joey had been living on for the last forever and a day. Hell, longer than that, probably. Lance smiled. "Especially since I’m a sure thing, and you know that." 

"Well, I dunno. Maybe you’d changed your mind or." 

"I hadn’t. I _haven’t_ ," Lance amended, wetting his dry lips with his tongue, and that seemed to be enough for Joey, who hooked two fingers into the pink panties and started to slowly edge them down. Lance held his breath, watching Joey roll that flimsy scrap of spandex off his hips. The first flash of cock was new and thrilling, and Lance inhaled sharply, unable to help it. 

Joey grinned at him. "You like that?" 

"Yeah," Lance admitted breathlessly. 

It seemed to take ten years, about the same amount of time Lance had shamelessly lusted after Joey, for him to push the panties down his legs. When they were at his ankles, Joey stepped out of them, and tossed them at Lance, who grabbed them and resisted the overwhelming urge to bring them to his nose. The scent of Joey, rawly and purely masculine, had always turned him on. 

Lance clutched the panties in his hand, and openly admired Joey, the thick length of his cock, the full weight of his balls. It wasn’t like Lance hadn’t seen Joey naked a million times before, but it never got old. It never failed to take Lance’s breath away or make him impossibly hard. And Joey had never stood before him like this before, demanding that Lance look at him. 

"Dude," Joey said, dropping his hand to his dick, idly rubbing at it, and Lance nodded. Without any of Joey’s teasing seduction, Lance wiggled the rest of the way out of his briefs. When they hit his ankles, he stuck a leg out from beneath the blankets and dropped his shorts. 

Without speaking, Joey tugged on the sheets until Lance let go, watching them slide down his body then crumpling into a pile on the floor. Lance lay there, letting Joey look at him, letting Joey see _his_ hard cock, and what Joey was doing to him, and how badly Lance wanted it done. 

Joey knelt on the mattress and started crawling toward him. In the back of his mind, Lance wondered if this was the best idea, remembering how enthusiastically sick Joey had been last night, so before could Joey cover him completely, Lance asked, "hey, are you feeling okay?" 

Starting at the ankle, Joey slowly slid his hand up Lance’s leg. "Good enough for this, and really, man, you should have asked that before we got naked if you’re so worried about it." 

"I’m not really," Lance murmured, spreading his knees, letting Joey in. 

Lance put his own hand on Joey’s chest, at the base of his throat, and began his slow descent, feeling Joey’s belly quiver and shake under his palm. Joey’s mouth hovered teasingly near his, and Lance arched his neck, lips parted and wet, _ready_. It should have been stranger, sliding from friendship to this exciting new place, but Lance had been _ready_ for such a long time. 

"Are you sure this is what you ..." 

"Shut up, dude," Joey said, and kissed him, tasting like minty fresh toothpaste. 

~~~ 

Joey was big, and beautiful, and laid over Lance like a warm blanket, and Lance didn’t know what to do with his hands or with his legs. Normally, he’d cross his ankles in the small of the guy’s back, getting as close as he could, but Joey had hissed, "ow! Bruise on the ass, man." 

"That’s from the ass-dive you took off the buffet table with the fruit salad in tow." 

"That explains why I smell so good," Joey had murmured, smiling wide against Lance’s lips, and they had resumed making out luxuriously. Lance had settled on the old knees-parted, pelvis-tilted approach, which allowed him to rub himself freely against Joey’s soft, fuzzy belly. 

When Joey started moving south, Lance thought he would die. Some of his early proof that he and Joey would be perfect together had stemmed from Joey’s love of giving head, and Lance’s love of receiving it. He wasn’t proud, but Lance had been known to wantonly beg for it from strangers, and he didn’t even want to know the depths he’d sink to when it came to Joey. 

Joey kissed between his thighs, and over his belly, until Lance was shaking for it, wanting it so bad that he couldn’t do much more than moan. Joey’s hands moved under him, lifting up his ass, forcing his knees wider apart. Lance looked down, and Joey looked half turned on and half nauseous. Lance didn’t know whether to encourage him or get him a glass of ginger ale. 

"Seriously, Joey, tell me you’re not going to ..." 

"Puke on you? Nah." Joey licked around Lance’s belly button then dragged his tongue down the thin line of hair leading to Lance’s dick. "But if I do, I expect you to forgive me, okay?" And his grin disappeared between Lance’s legs, facial hair scratching at Lance’s balls. 

"Okay," Lance said, because Joey had already taken him in, and Lance would agree to anything when someone was sucking his dick. More, when it was Joey, and it _was_ Joey. Lance thought he was going to shake apart with each swipe of Joey’s tongue, with each pulse of his lips. 

When Lance came, he pulled Joey’s hair a little, and couldn’t help himself. Joey’s happy face popped up from between his knees, cheeks puffed out, and Lance supposed he was into it if Joey was into it, but then Joey, thank god, spit into the waste bin and licked his sticky lips clean. 

"Normally I would just swallow your stuff, but I _am_ a pretty nauseous," Joey confessed. 

"It’s okay," Lance assured him, hooking one leg around the back of Joey’s thigh and tugging him in. Joey’s cock was still long and hard, leaving wet drops on Lance’s belly. Lance folded his hand over it, rubbing lightly, which started Joey moving, like Lance knew it would. 

They began kissing again, and Lance thought he would never get sick of it. He snaked his arms around Joey’s neck, and Joey’s arms slid under his back, and they were practically knotted together, clinging and desperate. Lance’s breath came in rough, wet gasps. His heart thumped. 

"You want this so bad," Joey muttered, and Lance felt a flicker of self-consciousness burn over his skin. It had been a sore point, pining after Joey all these years and knowing everybody knew just how badly he wanted him. Nobody, not even Chris, had been allowed to make fun. 

"Me too," Joey added quickly, his fingers digging into Lance’s back, their legs twining together like snakes in heat. It was the type of sex that Lance just didn’t have with people, the kind that left him raw and open, that pushed him out of control and forced him to come undone. 

"I want this so bad," Joey murmured, hips moving rhythmically against Lance’s belly, pushing deeper and deeper into the hollow that Lance created by sucking in. They kissed again, and again, and again, this bizarre mass of writhing body and synchronous moaning, and when Joey came, it was wet and hot on Lance’s skin, and Lance couldn’t help but follow helplessly. 

~~~ 

After, it still wasn’t weird. Lance took a shower while Joey ordered room service, then shaved when Joey jumped into the tub, listening for the knock. Lance didn’t even feel like anything had really changed. It was still easy to get mad at Joey for using Lance’s toothbrush. 

"Just don’t," Lance said, angrily rinsing out the bristles. "It’s fucking gross, that’s why." 

Joey grinned. "Dude, that didn’t work on me before I put your dick in my mouth, and it sure as hell isn’t going to work after." Joey grabbed Lance by the hips and grinned wide against his ear. "Just wait until I stick my tongue up your ass then make you kiss me. You’ll love that." 

"I probably will," Lance admitted, turning to face him, "but I still don’t want you to taste my plaque. I mean it, Joey." 

"Mm, you’re so stupid," Joey murmured, kissing at Lance’s neck, "that turns me on," and fitted his mouth against Lance’s, his tongue swooping in and running across Lance’s teeth. Lance couldn’t help kissing him back. Joey grinned. "That’s a better way to taste your plaque anyway." 

"It is, but you still can’t use my toothbrush," Lance said. "It’s disgusting." 

"I’ll give you a hundred and ten thousand, seven hundred dollars if you let me." 

Lance dipped his hands between Joey’s legs, grabbing his dick and squeezing. _Oh, thank you, god_ , _we’re going to do it again_ , he thought as Joey’s cock hardened against his palms. His mouth was close enough to kiss. "You’re going to give me that anyway. I have it in writing." 

"I’m gonna contest that, you know." Joey moved tipped his head until their foreheads touched, and Lance went cross-eyed trying to keep eye contact. "I think you’re pulling my leg." 

Lance grinned. "Well, I’m definitely pulling something." 

"Not my leg," Joey agreed, putting his hands on Lance’s hips and rubbing a little. 

"Not right now," Lance promised, and decided to deal with the money issue later. There were more important things at hand, like Joey, always Joey, and Lance thought he was pretty lucky after all, even if he was a hundred and ten thousand seven hundred dollars in the hole. 

Lucky, that when he sighed, Joey kissed his mouth and made it better. Even luckier, that Lance could forge Joey’s signature and write himself a cheque. Joey didn’t have to know that, though, not yet. Lance grinned against Joey’s lips, and kissed him back, and life was good.


End file.
